


Mr. and Mr. Winchester

by crackers4jenn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No pet names, I popped the damn question, and you're the girl." (Or, Dean and Castiel: fake-married. Set in a hypothetical s9.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. and Mr. Winchester

**Title:** Mr. And Mr. Winchester  
 **Summary:** _"No pet names, I popped the damn question, and you're the girl."_ (Or, Dean and Cas: fake-married. Set in a hypothetical s9.)  
 **Character/pairings:** Dean/Castiel  
 **Word count:** 12,600+

 

&

 

"Okay, but why us?"

Sam sighs real prissily. He clenches his eyes shut and squeezes the bridge of his nose and looks, to Dean, like he's mentally talking himself down a tall ledge. "Because," he manages through his post-calming zen.

"Good speech. Real convincing."

"Dean." That's not even Sam's second sigh. "Cas, you understand at least, right?"

Cas seems torn between ducking away from Dean's expectant gaze and Sam's pleading one, and his answer, when it comes -- a hesitantly admitted, "Somewhat" -- only provokes Dean further.

He points Cas' way, like there, in that general direction, lies his proof. "See. Even the ex-angel agrees with me."

At 'ex-angel,' Cas frowns, but neither Sam nor Dean notice, too caught up in themselves. "That's your defense?" Sam says. Well, laughs, and disbelievingly so.

"Yeah," Dean retorts.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Because Cas is a little... stunted, when it comes to, you know. Relationships. And stuff."

"Says the guy who tried to use the 'Cas understands' defense, what, like ten whole seconds ago? Wow, and you wanted to be a lawyer."

Sam's amusement disappears fast, turning into a grumpy glower, and probably he would've hit Dean with some serious I-could-lawyer-your-face-off sass, but Cas, having grown frustrated by the conversation and its many diversions, interrupts. Sam's been teaching him about the 'importance' of 'expressing' your 'emotions', hence: "I'd like you, both of you, to stop referring to me like I'm not right here."

"Calm down," Dean snaps, only because it's easier to accuse Cas of grouchiness rather than join him in the touchy-feely stuff. "Who spit in your Cheerios?"

"I don't eat that, so probably no one. Sam," Cas says after a pointed glare at Dean that warns he isn't in the mood for humor, and, mojoless or not, he will cut a bitch, "it's... rare for a djinn to seek out pairs."

"But not impossible," Sam argues. To Dean, he says, "We've been here before. Remember? Michigan?" Lisa. Right. Awesome reminder. Sam pins him with some seriously dewy eyes. "We're better fighting these things together, you know that."

Instead of arguing Sam's point, Dean concedes it. This he actually agrees with. "Exactly. You and me. Crosby and Nash. Mulder and Scully."

"Yeah, normally," he says back, with his voice going soft for Cas' sake, who's starting to look like he's taking the exclusion personally, "but it's different this time. I mean, the victims?"

Dean rolls his eyes while Sam psychs himself up, spreading out the contents of a manila file that carries every piece of evidence they've found so far. Sam finds the autopsy reports, six victims worth, and lines them side-by-side. Cas comes around that way to give them a scan, but Dean is already familiar with them. He stands his ground on the opposite side of their library table, hands folded across his chest, while Sam picks things back up.

"Look. They're couples. Reggie and Dianne Kampton. Tracy and Alex Whitman. Nick and Jennifer Miller."

"So?" Dean retorts.

"So, they're being hunted, and killed, in pairs."

"It is strange," Cas murmurs, thumbing through police reports. All of the victims were reported missing 72 hours prior to being found, and by then, it was way too late. Though the couples were discarded in different locations, they were all left in the same physical state: bound together and drained entirely of their blood.

The news has already picked the story up and dubbed the killer 'The Hitched Slayer,' since all the murders, so far at least, have involved a married couple.

"I hate to bring logic to the table, but these guys?" Dean gestures at the papers Sam is looking through. "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve."

Sam furrows his brow, like he's already noticed the male/female pattern, but Cas is straight up frowning. "There has never been any Steve."

Sam speaks up for Dean, probably because he assumes Dean will be tactless about it. "He means..." He struggles for a moment, then says, "It's a saying, about, uh... homosexual--"

"Just say 'gay,' you freak."

"So," Cas attempts to piece things together, "you're saying the problem is the victims are heterosexual, whereas you and I, Dean, would present a homosexual union--"

"Gay. And yes."

"What, like the djinn's some sort of bigot?" Sam laughs, the noise bursting out of him short and quick. "Seriously doubtful. I mean, if anything, you and Cas are the tastier treats."

"Yeah. Gross."

"Dean," Sam complains. "Biologically speaking. Bigger body, more blood? Do the math."

"That makes sense," Cas says, and now it's two against one, which only means Dean is determined to be even more stubborn.

"Fine. You and Cas, then," he suggests, aiming it at Sam. He grins real big, getting into it. "Your hair, his eyes? You know what they call that? Power couple!"

Sam gives off a wholly impressed vibe, while Cas shifts away from him a smidge, suddenly very interested in a spot on the wall.

"Could you try and be serious? Please?" Sam asks.

"I am! This thing's on the warpath for a happy couple? Okay. I'm looking at one."

"Except no one's going to believe that."

Dean scoffs. "Everyone will believe it."

"No, because me and Cas? We're friends. Just friends, we don't have any of that--" He gestures between Dean and Cas, frowning like he has a bad taste in his mouth, "weird sexual tension, like--"

"Like?" Dean cuts in, demanding an answer that better not be something that'll make him want to sock his brother in the face.

Sam gapes at him a moment, then turns his disbelief over to Cas, who is leafing through the file again, his whole forehead furrowed like he's deep in concentration and couldn't possibly have been paying attention to the conversation happening around him. That's Dean's teachings, to counter Sam's: play stupid as often as possible, especially when hounded on by giant moose.

"Like you and Cas," Sam finally huffs.

Dean barks out a laugh. It dies in his throat when Sam's face remains purposely passive. "You're joking."

"Look, call it a 'bond,' or whatever--"

Dean scowls and points an accusatory finger at Cas. "That's you. I never said that."

"Or disagreed," Sam says reasonably, which finally draws Cas' attention off the papers.

"Do you?" he asks Dean. He clarifies, "Disagree?" with his gaze locked squarely on Dean's, his eyes searching Dean's intently.

Dean feels exposed by the scrutiny, and not just from Cas, but from his brother too, who, awesome, is almost staring at him with pity. "Not the point," Dean bites out, which is about as much of an admission as he can muster.

"Yeah, Dean, it kinda is." Then Sam sighs like he's the one being put through the ringer here. "Justify it in your head however you want, but you and Cas have that thing you can't fake."

Still not willing to surrender so easy, Dean dials up the sarcasm. He questions slowly, emphatically, "So, me and Cas, the winning idea here is: pretend to be in big, gay love? That's the plan?"

Sam thins his lips at Dean's insensitivity, but says, "Yeah."

Dean directs his outrage Cas' way. "And you're just okay with this?"

Cas squares his shoulders and lifts his head. "People are dying, Dean."

Sam is eying him hopefully. Cas' stare is unwavering. Which, dammit, means Dean is screwed.

"Fine," he relents angrily, but is immediately warning Cas, "No pet names, I popped the damn question, and you're the girl."

Cas seems confused by... well, all of that, but he consents. "Fair enough."

Dean swivels his attention over to Sam. "And you," he demands, killing the smile Sam is badly attempting to stifle, "shut up."

 

&

 

According to the police reports, the three couples were each last seen at three separate bars, which puts Sam, Dean, and Cas at a disadvantage. It means they're dealing with a djinn that knows enough to not target the same place twice, though, luckily, it's staying in a two-block radius. So far, anyway.

The thing is, not including the previously prowled places, there are three other dives the djinn could currently be skulking like they're its own private feeding grounds, at least according to Google. And it is a djinn, they're sure of that. Twelve hours earlier Sam and Dean had posed as FBI agents and checked out the nearly bloodless bodies of Tracy and Alex Whitman. They didn't have a pint of blood left in them, and both had puncture marks Dean was once left with himself.

So, yeah. Djinn.

Mankato, Kansas is the crap pot this is happening in, but it's only a twenty minute drive from the bunker, tops, which means Dean and Cas can leave for the hunt with peace of mind.

Relative, anyway, since Sam is sleeping 18 hours a day, still only partially recovered from the trials, and Cas is only four months into a humanity he was forced into.

They're baby-stepping their way back into the family business.

Dean slams the trunk to the Impala shut, his and Cas' duffels safely snuggled inside.

Cas, speaking of, is nearby, and Sam's hovering in a shady way. Dean writes it off as paranoia -- seriously, ever since he agreed to act his part in the hunt, Sam has been casting him and Cas mushy looks like they'd fessed up to a real, actual love -- and moves to the driver's side.

"Be careful," he lectures Sam along the way. There's still a large part of him that worries Sam isn't ready to be left alone, even if Kevin's an official bunker dweller as well. That barely counts, the kid holes up in his room most of the time. Probably PTSD from Garth's, but like hell Dean's footing that therapy bill. "You feel off, in any way, I want you to call. The second it happens, Sam, I'm serious."

Cas starts for the passenger side, matching Dean stride for stride. He's watching Sam and Dean say their farewells quietly, with a respect for Dean's need to mother hen.

"I get it," Sam says. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets, slouching under his brother's concern. "And I will, I promise. I'm gonna be fine, though."

"Yeah, you are," Dean grins at him.

Cas nods at Sam over the hood of the car, about as gushy as the guy gets. Dean's prying open the driver's door when Sam clears his throat.

"Before you guys go, I, uh." He pulls his hands out of his pockets, both of them clenched into fists. He turns them over, opening them, and reveals a ring sitting in each palm.

"No," Dean snarls at soon as he realizes what Sam's getting at. "Hell no."

Cas is doing his squint-frown thing, but he isn't protesting.

"You're supposed to be married. Remember?"

"Whatever. We agreed rings were tacky. We're shackled in our hearts," Dean throws out real quick as passable excuses. "Problem solved."

Except Cas is moving for Sam. "If Dean and I wear these, people will assume we're sworn to one another, romantically?"

"Jesus christ," Dean marvels under his breath.

But Sam is smiling. "Yeah, Cas. See, when people get married, they exchange--"

"I'm aware of the ritual. I meant, it will be believable? For myself and Dean? He already displays multiple jewelry."

Dean says, "Hey," offended, and gets ignored.

Sam, the asshole, is biting back laughter. "You, ah, put it on a specific finger. Trust me, it'll be believable."

"Still no, though," Dean says, hitting him with an empty smile that bares his teeth. Then, "Where the hell'd you even get the damn things?"

Sam coughs. "Some box."

"Some _box_?" Dean repeats skeptically.

"Down in the storage cells."

"Oh, good. So, cursed rings. Why not."

"They're not cursed."

Cas takes the ring out of Sam's left hand. He holds it close, examining it, testing its weight. Then slips it on his finger. The correct one, too.

Dean hangs his head back and closes his eyes at the sky. "God, help me," he mutters to himself.

Cas takes the other ring from Sam and strides, determined, over to Dean. Once he's in front of him, he thrusts it at Dean and demands, "Put it on."

Dean smirks at him. "Gonna buy me dinner first?"

Of course, the joke goes right over his head. "No."

Sam starts snickering behind them. Dean snatches the ring from Cas. "Fine," he grinds out.

Cas doesn't move. Cas stays all up in Dean's face, waiting, so Dean makes a big show out of it. He holds up his hand and slides the ring on, wiggling his finger. "Happy?"

"Very," Sam answers, delighted, and openly so.

"Can it," Dean orders him. "And get your scrawny ass inside already. And you," he says to Cas, who is staring at him in that creepy soul-scan way of his, "in the car. We're going."

 

&

 

Dean wears other rings, true. But those are sentimental, and besides, he's had them so long, they're as much a part of him as his hands, his arm.

The wedding ring, though, feels weird. Foreign. And he can't stop his brain from obsessing over it. It's an extra weight against the steering wheel, a new feeling between his fingers, so he's aware of it like it's a toothache he can't stop prodding.

Cas, on the other hand, seems unconcerned with his, which is nuts considering every time Dean looks that way, it catches his eyes.

He has a confusing enough relationship with Cas as it is without the added mindfuck that is a fake-marriage.

Dean, by the way, heard from Cas when the shit first hit the fan some four months ago now.

Sam was in the hospital and the TV perched in the corner of his room was still blurting news alerts of unidentified objects falling from the sky when Dean got that initial phone call. Cas was tricked. Naomi was right, Metatron did a spell, yadda yadda.

That was it, though, for weeks. Months. Phone calls, mostly, but text messages too.

'I'm at a Biggersons. It's very loud here.'

'I wouldn't like to own a dog, I don't think.'

'There is too much rain.'

'More than ever, you seem impossibly far away.'

When the guy had finally shown up on their doorstep three weeks ago, Dean barely recognized him. He was sporting a five o'clock shadow that seemed dialed more to nine o'clock, thicker and longer than what he grew down in Purgatory, even. His coat was gone, replaced with a filthy hoodie. Same for the tie and suit underneath.

Cas' outfit wasn't the only thing that changed; Cas the human was virtually a whole new entity to learn and know.

They'd cleared out the clutter in the room across from Dean's and gave it to him. Bought him new clothes, too, and fixed his meals, and gave Cas time to adjust.

They're all still adjusting.

"You're quiet," Cas says to him now, drawing Dean out of his thoughts. They pass the sign that notifies Mankato is only five miles away. "You don't need to be worried."

That's a weird conclusion to jump to. They've done some combat training, the two of them, but Cas without his powers is a less indomitable force, there's no getting around that. It rattles him a little. "I'm not."

Cas is practically bragging when he says, "I've gotten better at grifting."

Because old Cas, angel Cas, was crap when it came to lying. Right. Dean grits his teeth, gripping the steering wheel harder. "Good."

"I claimed once to belong to a group that gathered recreationally for the purpose of stating each person's name and confessions. There were sandwiches."

Dean swallows that fun piece of information down a throat that's gone dry and feels it curl into his stomach where it decides to hang around, kicking up a bad taste.

They hit the city limits. There's a dingy 'Welcome To' sign. Three minutes and a bunch of fast food joints later, they're already drifting past those places of business their couples had disappeared from. The Stripe, The Lunch Box, and Swanky's, which, in the middle of the day, all look completely dead.

Only a couple blocks from that mini business stretch, they pull into the nearest, and cheapest-looking, motel. Dean eases into a parking space and cuts the engine.

"Ready?"

Cas hits him with some confusion.

Dean holds up his hand with the wedding ring. "People need to see us together, so. Hope you're ready to get your gay on."

"Dean," Cas admonishes.

"I know. Shut up."

Without waiting for another word, he pushes open the driver's side door and gets out, stretching his neck. Cas exits his side a beat after. Their doors click shut at the same time, loud in the silence. Still, neither of them move, the motel lobby a sudden foreboding thing.

Dean rolls his eyes at himself and sets off. Cas quickly follows.

They're swept immediately onto the set of some cheesy B-movie when they enter the building. Feels like it, anyway. Somehow he failed to notice the place was called Beach Motel. Even though they're nowhere near the ocean, its insides look like someone spewed the ocean into it.

Dean side-eyes the taxidermied marine life on the wall as he comes up to the front desk. He feels Cas scoot up close beside him.

A bored looking woman stands behind the counter, typing at the computer in front of her. The only acknowledgment they're given is a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Love those beaches," Dean says by way of (awkward) greeting. Cas coughs at his expense, and the girl looks up.

It makes her bangs fall into her face, and she blows them out of the way while asking, "Can I help you?"

Not like Dean hasn't had his share of unhappy motel workers. It isn't personal. He glues on a fake smile and says, "Room. Just the one. With, ah, a king."

Her eyes travel from Dean to Cas, slow and unimpressed. Cas, remembering, places his hand, the one with the ring, right there on the counter top for all to see.

Jesus actual christ.

The girl's eyes flick back to Dean. She seems entirely unmoved by Cas' silent declaration of homosexual relations. "So, single?"

"Yup," Dean answers through that big, big smile of his.

She blows the bangs out of her face again and books their room. Dean forks over his credit card -- well, some guy named Robert Manwell's credit card -- and wills Cas via eyeball to dial it back.

"One king," she announces, handing both the credit card and room card over. "You guys are in 201." Suddenly a grin grows across her face. "Enjoy."

 

&

 

Room 201 is an upstairs room, which is a bitch on Dean's knees. There's an elevator, but Dean had taken one look at the ancient, rusted shaft and opted for the stairs.

Room 201 is also a honeymoon suite, which explains the front desk girl's personality transplant at the end there, but Dean doesn't even care. Joke's on her, now Dean has a microwave.

Dean flops onto the bed and falls to his back immediately, closing his eyes to his sudden exhaustion.

Cas gently sets his bag near the door. He takes his time taking in the decor, which, Dean had noticed, is also big on the beach theme. There are nets hung decoratively on the wall and all the lamps in the room are shaped like anchors.

Dean hears Cas shuffle towards the bathroom. He flicks the light switch on and starts browsing the complimentary soaps. Then he turns the sink on. Pleased, apparently, with whatever comes out of it, he shuts it off and pushes open the door to the bathroom. Dean hears the crinkle of a shower curtain.

"We have ice buckets," Cas calls out.

Dean expels a breath and drags himself back into a sitting position. "Yay," he mutters, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

According to his watch, it's only fourteen minutes after six, which means they still have time to waste before setting out. Their plan, roughly thrown together as it is, is to pick a bar and stake it out. The djinn's been attacking every four days, not counting the kill time. That gives them three to work with before some other unlucky sons-of-bitches wind up dead.

Cas comes out of the bathroom with an ice bucket in each hand. He shows them off to Dean, who tosses up a sarcastic thumbs up.

"Before," Cas explains, and right away Dean knows what 'before' is being remembered here, "the rare occasion I stayed at places similar to this, only one other time was there an ice bucket."

Dean feels that curl of nausea in his stomach again, but he ignores it. "Why don't you go fill 'em up then? And, hey." He leans to the side and pulls his wallet out. "Get us something to drink while you're out there."

Cas takes the bills Dean offers and does as asked, exiting the room without so much as a glance behind him.

Dean falls back onto the pillows and pretends there isn't a sting in his chest.

 

&

 

"You remember our cover, right?" They're in the Impala outside some bar called The Thirsty Turtle, going over things one last time. Just in case. "I'm still Dean, you're still Cas, we met five years ago. Mechanic," he points at himself, then switches the direction of it to Cas. "Part time at a coffee shop." That had been Cas' idea.

"I found you attractive," Cas adds to the story, "so I propositioned you."

"Don't say 'propositioned,'" Dean says, cringing.

Cas shifts in the passenger seat. "Why not?"

"Because it doesn't mean what you think it means." Cas continues staring cluelessly at him. Dean blows out an annoyed breath. "You say that, people'll think you came onto me. For, you know. Sex."

Cas lets that sit. Then he says, "Maybe I did," which is like an a-bomb dropped on Dean's brain.

Flustered, and fuck that, Dean steers them back towards what they've already agreed on, which is, "You asked me on a date." Then, to himself and also his car's upholstery, "Holy crap, how is this my life."

"I don't see what the difference is."

"A date doesn't automatically mean a roll in the hay, can we focus?"

"But what if my intent was always to roll in the hay with you," Cas argues, stumbling around the euphemism.

"You can't tell people that, Cas! No one goes, 'hey, how'd you meet?' and wants to hear 'I wanted sex' back. Come on."

"Fine, then, a date, and no one had sex."

Worst conversation of Dean's life, for real. He's going to have to kill Sam after they finish here.

"Whatever. No one's going to ask us this shit, let's just go."

 

&

 

"How long have you two been married?" A gasp. "Who proposed?"

Dean stares unblinkingly at the black-haired woman on the stool beside him, the one currently three sheets to the wind and drilling him and Cas on their fake married life. Cas is at his other side, sipping at a watered down beer, content to let Dean handle the storytelling.

Dean wraps his fingers around his own beer, rubbing at the condensation. The wedding ring makes a soft clanking sound against it. He laughs, rocky and awkward, his mind in a no-man's-land of blankness. The kicker is, the woman's stupidly attractive and so Dean's type, it kinda hurts. Any other time, he'd be more appreciative of her skin tight jeans and too-short tank top. She hounded on them only minutes after they ordered a drink and hasn't let up since, and the aggressive way she's been demanding their life history makes Dean think she's after them for a little two-d-one-v bedroom action.

Cas leans into Dean and raises his voice over the radio and bar noise. "It was Dean who proposed." He sways into Dean even further, his arm coming up behind the high back of Dean's chair, where it stays.

The woman -- Crystal, she introduced herself with -- rakes her eyes up and down Dean. "Funny, you don't really seem the type."

Whatever that means. Gay? Romantic?

Is he supposed to be pissed?

Catching on, she laughs. "Honey, I meant settling. No offense to you over there, handsome," which is drawled at Cas. It solidifies Dean's earlier assessment, and for the craziest second of Dean's life, his brain whips up a visual of the three of them tangled on the motel bed together, naked and touching everywhere and doing unspeakable acts, before reality cuts through like a cold shower. "You seem hard to break in, is all."

Cas decides he doesn't like either that description of Dean or the way they're being objectified. The hand he has resting atop the back of Dean's chair moves instead to cuff possessively around the back of Dean's neck. New as the touch is, it nearly sends Dean bolting before he remembers, right. Gay lovers.

"Believe me, he broke in fine," Cas assures her, which, what? Seriously, what? Dean manages a smile, trying subtly to get Cas to give up his grip. He feels like the guy's friggin' bitch, pinned under his territorial hold. It's humiliating. That, and the solid weight and warmth at his neck is messing with his body, sending that heat to other, more downstairs, places.

Crystal's smirk skips straight over Dean and lands on Cas, hungrily. "So you're the bronco."

Alright, Dean decides. Great talk. The woman is not their djinn, they need to move along elsewhere.

Dean ducks out of Cas' grasp in a maneuver that allows him to grab that hand with his own, which means him and Cas are now doing that -- handholding -- but who cares. Places to go, people to see, djinns to kill, etc etc.

He gets up and pulls Cas with him. "Nice to meet you, Kirsty."

Her smile wanes at the blatant rejection. She doesn't even bother to correct the wrong name, just tips her lipstick-stained drink at them and watches as they disappear towards the booth part of the bar.

"I disliked her," Cas confesses along the way. It's right against his ear, which makes Dean realize they're still holding hands, and okay, yeah, fake married, but no. So much no.

He lets go of Cas and slides into one of those empty booths in the back. Cas sits down beside him, and frustration consumes Dean for a solid ten seconds because, jesus, personal space. Can he not have one freaking second to himself? But then he emerges from his rage and sees Cas glancing warily around the bar, like he's uncomfortable being there for whatever reason, and Dean doesn't have the heart to tell him to move.

"'Least we can rule one person out," he says. He signals for a waitress and orders new drinks to replace the one's left behind, and a couple of burgers and fries too.

Cas is still looking around the place, scanning the clusters of people. Dean wonders if Cas went to dives like this those months he was gone, if he picked up women or, hell, men. Then he makes himself drop that thought.

"How are we supposed to tell the djinn apart?" Cas asks, frustrated. "It could be anyone."

"Yeah, sucks without angel-vision, don't it?" As soon as he says it, Dean wants to un-say it. Cas shrinks away from Dean so instead of being a solid line against him, there's at least three inches of space between them. Cas clams up when it comes to the topic of his lost celestiality. Dean knows that, which pretty much makes him the world's biggest dick for joking around about it.

Only, instead of evasion, Cas opens up. "It's.... difficult," he agrees. Dean's head snaps his way, because that? That confession, or whatever it is, is huge. Cas senses Dean's stare and meets it. "I don't know how you do it."

Dean can hear the double-meaning there. Doesn't mean he's in any way emotionally equipped to handle it. "Practice, mostly," he quips. Except he might as well be the world's biggest sap, because he holds Cas' gaze like it means something and promises, "I'll teach you."

Their stare turns into their usual long, lingering thing, and it only breaks when the waitress comes back and sets their beers and plates of food in front of them. She flounces off right after, and her departure reminds Dean they have a job to do.

He leans into Cas, talking out the side of his mouth. "You look for whoever stands out. Our guy's hunting in twos, so focus on groups of three."

 

&

 

Problem is, almost everyone at the bar rouses their suspicions. People go to these kind of places, after all, to pick up other people, which means 100% of the crowd fits a djinn's m.o..

There was a man talking to another man and a woman -- the two of them looking like they came as a couple -- that Dean and Cas had watched for a while.

Only, when all three of them got up and headed to the bathroom together, Dean and Cas walked into some pretty kinky stuff. There'd been a struggle going on, but not the kind that called for civic intervention. The role-playing kind. Dean's pretty sure he saw something his brain will never be scrubbed clean of.

Eventually night turns into the early morning, only a few drunken stragglers still hanging around, and Dean decides to call it quits.

Crystal's still at the bar talking to a man with an awesome mustache when they head out, some four hours and two more rounds later. She smirks at them as they pass, and it grows bigger when Dean wraps his arm around Cas' shoulders and leads the way.

 

&

 

The shower's one of the nicer ones he's seen in a motel before, but he still makes quick use of it, out in under five minutes. Cas had beat him to it, too, and even though he was in the thing for a solid fifteen minutes, the water's still plenty scolding by the time Dean has his turn. Not a lot of shampoo left, though.

When he gets out, warm, wet air escaping with him, Cas has already claimed dibs on one side of the bed. He's comfortably laid out atop the covers, propped up by a mountain of pillows against the headboard so he can watch, from the sound of it, an infomercial that promises to sculpt abs. Dean's just glad it's not porn. Because, awkward.

Dean runs a towel through his hair and tries not to feel too weird about standing around in just a pair of sweat pants.

Nothing weird, either, about Cas in nothing but boxers, some old band t-shirt Dean could've sworn he packed in his own duffel, and a pair of socks.

Nope. Totally normal stuff happening.

Dean shucks his towel in the corner with Cas' and climbs into bed. He sorta hates himself for the self-conscious way he peels back the covers and slides in, making it more of a big deal than it is. Like Cas even cares.

Dean knocks back against the pillow a couple times to loosen it up and settles, eventually, on his back, staring at the ceiling. There are water marks spotting the entire thing. Probably they're going to be poisoned by mold. Awesome.

Cas is in his peripheral. Cas is also super close, smelling like motel soap and Colgate.

Dean knocks his head against the pillow again, and that time it doesn't really have anything to do with making the thing softer.

"Does this make you uncomfortable?" Cas asks him, picking up on it. Dean's eyes fly his way straight away, but Cas is still focused on the TV. Some dude is bragging about his rock solid core.

"We're grown ass men sharing a bed, so, yeah," Dean admits, dry about it. "A little."

From his reclined position, Dean watches Cas' forehead furrow, but he doesn't say anything. Dean's gaze, of its own volition, travels down the rest of Cas' body. The guy has some hairy friggin' legs.

Dean sighs at himself and looks elsewhere.

Then he wonders, "Why? You uncomfortable?"

"I've sat beside you resting before," Cas answers. It's a reminder that's given reasonably, like there ain't a single thing wrong that.

"That's called stalking and it's creepy and not the point."

Cas finally glances down at him. He has to look past his own shoulder, since Dean's burrowed so far down. "You don't make me uncomfortable, Dean."

A warning flare goes off in Dean's head, then clatters down into his chest where it drops to a dead, useless halt. Self-preservation is cupping its hands and yelling at Dean to abort. End the conversation with a noncommittal grunt, roll over, and get his four hours of sleep.

But that same dumb, needy part of him that answered Cas' texts for three months, desperate for that contact, is just a little bit louder.

"You know we're supposed to be married, right? You know what married people do?"

Something like a smile makes the corners of Cas' mouth go up. "I have some memory."

God, right. Because Cas, or Emmanuel, or who the fuck ever, was married to that crazy chick that pulled him out of that lake.

Cas adds, looking at Dean intently again, "Should I be uncomfortable?"

The implication there being that Dean's behaving strangely. And, fuck, he is, hell if he knows why. Fuck.

Dean rolls to his side by way of an answer, dragging the covers up to his shoulders. He ignores Cas' eyes on him.

 

&

 

They raid the mini fridge for breakfast. Its shelves are stocked with things like chocolate and whip cream, and Dean tries not to think too hard about why, going for the plastic cups of fruit.

He gives one to Cas and they eat it at the table that overlooks, real romantically, the parking lot. They've got one hell of a view of the highway. It's practical, though. Distantly they can see the rooftops of the bars three blocks down.

Cas is reading the nutrition information on the back of his fruit package. That's a Sam thing. Cas came to them looking like some scraggly, mangy, vitamin-deficient cat, used to a diet that was made up mostly of vending machine goods. Sam introduced him to healthy eating, and since then, Cas has been a nut about it. GMO's are a thing Dean's been getting lectured daily about, okay.

Cas takes a bite of pineapple, leaving its neighboring slices of cantaloupe alone, still squinting at whatever's written back there.

Dean picks out a grape of his own and says, with his mouth full, "Wanna get dressed, go into town?"

They checked the paper earlier. No new reports of missing people.

Cas nudges the cantaloupe out of the way with his fork, frowning at it because it's all that's left and now he's going to take that personally. Dean rolls his eyes and grabs Cas' cup from him, switching it with his. It makes Cas finally look up, and he stares hard.

Dean spears a piece of that cantaloupe and shoves it in his mouth. "What?" he says, of Cas' staring. "Eat your food."

Cas eyes his new cup of fruit like Dean's gesture is huge and meaningful. Like it was some act of godly good will, and now he's in posession of something precious. Whatever, the guy clearly doesn't like melon and, besides, Dean's a human garbage disposal that'll eat just about anything, even the crap that grows from trees.

"So?" Dean says, chewing. "Do you?"

It takes Cas a second before he remembers what Dean asked. He pokes very carefully at a strawberry, not meeting Dean's gaze again. "Aren't we already in town?"

"We're in a tourist trap. We'll drive a couple miles, leave the strip mall behind."

Cas doesn't seem to understand any of those words, but he shrugs, shifting restlessly. "Fine."

Fine.

 

&

 

Dean gets gas at a Texaco down the street and smiles at a pretty woman over the top of the Impala. She grins back some, flirty about it, and Dean almost doesn't even care she's driving some shiny, Jetsons-looking hybrid dickmobile.

Then her smile cuts off abruptly and she turns her back to him, moving around her car quick. Dean wonders what the hell that's about until he follows where her gaze last was, at his hand resting on the Impala's hood. The wedding ring, son of a friggin' bitch.

He pulls the gas nozzle out of the tank and puts it back real aggressively. He yanks open the driver side door, dropping into the seat with a glare at Cas who can't even see it because, of course, Cas is staring out the window people-watching.

 

&

 

Cas wants to go to the library, so they go to the library.

It's one big room split into three small sections, the shelves dusty as hell and the magazine rack outdated by two years, but Cas goes down each row of books. Dean follows him through the first few stacks, but when it becomes obvious Cas is going to literally peruse the entire place, he shuffles off with a be-right-back.

He spends forty minutes flipping through old obits, a habit more than actual interest, before Cas emerges ready to go.

 

&

 

It's February and cold, so Dean vetoes outdoor explorations. They drive past the park, though, and Cas eyes the lake, and the trail around it, longingly.

They stop at a hole in the wall diner called Bob's Inn for lunch.

There are a couple of regulars at the counter, and Dean and Cas find themselves two empty stools among them to sit. Dean gives the old guy to his left a nod while Cas settles in on the other side.

A woman in an apron sets menus down in front of them. "What can I get you boys to drink?" she asks, sliding coasters their way. She's older, husky in a been-working-since-I-could-talk kind of way, but her hair, pulled back in a bun on top of her head, is its natural shade of brown, not a lick of gray in it.

"Got any beer back there?" Dean asks, half-joking, but the woman ducks into a refrigerated section and looks at him expectantly. "Corona's good," he says, friendly.

She pulls out a bottle and twists the top off, setting it on Dean's coaster. Then she directs that expectant gaze Cas' way, but Cas is studying the menu.

"He'll have tea," Dean answers for him.

The lady's name tag says Judith. She looks at Dean, lifting a wry eyebrow. "He want that hot or cold?"

"Hot," Cas answers himself, looking up. "With lemon, if you have it."

"'Course," she drawls, heading back into the kitchen.

The man beside Dean stares at them, shoveling a handful of salty-looking fries into his mouth.

"Know what you want?" Dean asks Cas. He hasn't even looked at the menu himself. He knows these kind of places like the back of his hand. Hamburgers, sandwiches, and a basket of chicken tenders, he'd bet his baby on it.

"The ham and cheese sandwich, I think," Cas answers.

"What about you, sugar?" Judith asks Dean, placing Cas' steaming mug of tea on the counter in front of him. She swipes her hands down her apron, waiting.

"Burger's fine. I wouldn't say no to some bacon," he adds, charm dialed all the way up.

"Wouldn't have picked anything else, myself," the old guy next to Dean says, shaking his head. He's only got the basket of fries in front of him, though, and their waitress sighs at him.

"All that bacon. You're gonna eat yourself into an early grave, and what then?"

"Happy bunch of earthworms, I wager," the guy teases back.

Cas says, "It's far more likely your body will be ravaged by maggots," and everyone stares. He adds, "They've never shown a preference for pork, by the way."

The guy beside Cas coughs to fill the awkward silence. Judith is still staring.

Dean's guy just leans back and folds his arms over his coveralls. "Well, there you go," he tells Judith happily.

She tsks at him and heads into the kitchen.

"You, what, one of them whatever they're called. Forensic scientists?" the old guy asks them. "We watch a lot of those medical shows. Don't we, son?" That's to the other guy. "Whole buncha them on the TV. Graphic, too, all except the little part they blur out."

"Leave them men alone, Art," Judith hollers from the back.

Dean exchanges a look with Cas, then says, "No, he, ah, nerds out over that stuff, that's all." And then, who the hell knows why, Dean loses his cool and blurts, "He works at a coffee shop. Part time."

Real smooth.

Art rocks back, sizing them up. "He ever answer his own questions, or you always do that for him?"

Cas just sticks their menus into the slot between the napkin dispenser and salt and pepper shakers. Neither of them have even touched their drinks. "Dean's a mechanic," he says pointedly.

"Huh," Art responds, drawing it out, long and measured.

"We met five years ago," Cas adds, and Dean swings his head around right away and gawks at him because what the ever lovin' hell. Overshare. That is overshare. More than Dean's, even.

Art narrows his eyes at the ring around Dean's finger, then the one Cas' got on his own hand wrapped around his tea.

Judith comes out, snapping a cloth towel at Art. "Quit rubbernecking 'less you plan on payin'." To Dean and Cas, and much more motherly, she says, "We like to pat ourselves on the back for being so liberal 'round town. Even Art here."

Oh, good. The 'good job on being gay' speech.

It's in the back of Dean's throat to laugh that off, to defend his strapping heterosexuality, but: the dumb stupid case.

"Right," he settles with, rough-sounding. He covers by shooting Cas a mile-wide grin. "That's good, ain't it, honey?"

Cas narrows his eyes at the nickname.

"I'm democrat as they come," Art cuts in, hostile in a way Dean's catching on is all for show. "Hell, woman, who'd you think told you about that Jimmy Stewart?"

"Jon," the guy beside Cas says, stirred into talking for the first time. "His name's Jon, dad."

"What'd I say?" Art wonders.

A bell dings and it sends Judith heading for the kitchen again. Art takes that as his cue to dip towards Dean, close enough he can smell the aftershave on him.

"That gal's all mouth, but she's not wrong 'bout one thing. If I made you and your friend feel unwelcome, I'm sorry for that. Ashamed, too."

Dean pulls away a little but keeps up the congenial facade. "No need for that."

"You sure?" He tilts forward and peers around Dean, at Cas. "What about you? I know gay men. Friends with some of 'em, too."

"Dad," the son complains.

Judith comes out with their food and everyone kind of unanimously agrees to drop the topic. Art goes back to his fries and the other guy keeps his eyes on a TV hanging on the wall that's playing sitcom reruns.

The food's pretty damn good and Dean finds himself enjoying the quiet presence of Cas at his side, even if he steals fries off Dean's plate without asking.

They leave a big tip before they go.

 

&

 

Back in the car, Dean turns some Foreigner on down low.

"Well, that was fun," he jokes, pulling onto the highway. The motel's only a couple miles down.

"You're handling it well," Cas notes.

"What, the gay thing?" Cas only stares, which is his version of an answer. "Why wouldn't I?" Dean's not homophobic. He's kind of insulted Cas would think that. The guy's supposed to know him.

Cas' attention drifts to outside his window. "You seemed comfortable when the idea was you and Sam."

Dean chokes on air because, holy christ, phrasing. "Dude. Incest. Watch it."

"You were less comfortable about you and I."

True. But, still. "This whole thing's got 'awkward' all over it."

Cas looks at him again. He tilts his head. "Why?"

"Fake-married?" Dean says very, very pointedly. "You're really asking why that's awkward?"

"It's not real."

"Hence 'fake.'" Dean puts the blinker on and switches lanes.

"If it's not real, it shouldn't matter what people think."

"It shouldn't matter what people think, period, Cas." Sam should pay him for that one. "Man, I don't know. It's lying and acting--"

"You do that all the time."

"About being one of the men in black," Dean agrees. "Pulling out badges, showing up in a suit. Being a professional bad ass."

"This is emasculating," Cas concludes.

"What? No."

"Then I don't understand."

Dean ignores traffic for a good thirty seconds to gape at Cas. "Everyone, literally everyone, thinks we're married."

"So?"

"We're not!" How is he having to explain this?

"But no one knows that."

Finally, his damn point. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it?" Then, "It bothers you?"

Dean wants to slam his head against the steering wheel, this conversation is so circular.

Luckily the motel is up ahead.

He parks as close to their room as he can, killing the engine. Cas hangs back, waiting, and Dean entertains the idea of fleeing before he internally chastises himself for being such an asshole.

"It doesn't bother me, Cas. Not in the way you think. Got it?"

Cas scans Dean's face for some sign of a lie. He must be satisfied by what he sees because he smiles a little. "Yes."

"Good, now lets see what kinda pool this place has got."

 

&

 

As advertised on the vacancy sign outside, the pool is heated.

There are probably better uses of their time, like checking out any old, abandoned, factory-type buildings for djinn activity, but: pool.

They grab some towels and head downstairs, clad only in their boxers. Four o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, though, in a town the size of Sam's arm span. There's no one around except the housekeeper.

Cas lays out his towel on a lounge chair near the water. Dean dumps his beside that, then dips his toes just to make sure. It's like a big, toasty bath, and Dean tosses Cas a playful grin while he heads to the shallow side and makes his way in.

Once he's up to his chest, he flicks water Cas' way. "Get in, weirdo."

Cas slits his eyes at the name-calling but does as told. He copies the way Dean entered, slower, though, while he adjusts.

Probably Cas has never been in a pool before.

It's kind of an awesome thought. The guy's experienced his share of the shitty side of humanity -- homelessness, hunger, there was a meltdown over a paper cut a few days ago they don't talk about -- and now Dean's got the chance to share one of the good parts.

Cas sinks into the warmth, still way down in the shallow section, but Dean doesn't push it. Who knows if Cas can even swim.

"Feels good, right?" he asks, edging closer.

Cas eyes the small ripples that movement makes. "Yes."

Dean snorts. Cas looks like he signed up for a colonoscopy. He needs to relax.

When Dean's right next to him, the water lapping at both of their chests, Cas starts to grow suspicious. "What are you doing?"

He has some pretty damn good instincts; Dean smiles innocently, then surges out of the water, wrapping around Cas and dragging him under so fast, there's hardly even a splash. It lasts a whopping two seconds, and Dean's not doing anything he wouldn't do to Sammy, but when he pops back up for air, he worries this is crossing a line that'll wind up backfiring on him.

Then a pair of arms snag him around the waist from underwater and yank him back down.

Dean laughs, blowing out air bubbles. He opens his eyes to see Cas already doing the same, and jesus christ the chlorine must be messing with him because Cas' eyes are really, really blue, and close too. Dean twists and tries to kick off the ground, but one of Cas' arms shoots out and grabs him around the back of his knee.

Both of them break for the surface after that, sucking in breaths. Dean doesn't waste any time letting things turn weird; he lunges at Cas and drags him back under.

They wrestle like that until the adrenaline tapers off and Dean calls uncle first, sliding up Cas' body through his freakishly strong hold. Dean's never spent a lot of time thinking about other dude's bodies, but Cas, he's realizing, could do a lot worse than what he's got. He's more filled out than Dean is, compact where Dean's gone pudgy.

Their hips slot together and they're pretty much standing there hugging, arms wound around each other, chests rising and falling in time so Dean feels Cas' exhale for each of his ragged inhales.

It should be weird but it's not, and Dean, still feeling his good mood, pats Cas on the side of his face before letting go, paddling backwards.

Cas, afterward, loosens up. He learns how to float and spends the rest of their time in the pool on his back, arms fanned out, watching the clouds.

 

&

 

Different night, same plan.

Different bar, too. This one's called Ed's, right off the main road. When they get there it's dark already. A group of people stand smoking outside the door and they watch Dean and Cas curiously as they head inside. Damn small towns.

It's small and smoky and smells like an ashtray, but the beer on tap is half-decent. They don't bother this time making small talk, just head straight away for a table in the corner near the juke box.

There are only ten, fifteen people in the whole joint, and it stays that way all night, making this one, too, a bust.

 

&

 

Later, Dean takes advantage of Cas' usual long shower to call his brother.

"Hey, how's it going?" Sam asks him right away.

"Who cares, how are you?"

Dean swears he can hear the eye roll through the line. "Good. You and, ah, the other Mr. Winchester have any luck?"

"Laugh it up," Dean drawls, and Sam does. Dean's not even going to lie, it's the best fucking sound in the world. "So far, squat," he tells him, and because Sam's got that save-the-world-complex, he grows serious.

"Damn. That sucks."

"Choir, preaching," Dean tells him.

"I mean, it's been two days already, and the abductions usually--"

"What did I just say? We know already. We're working on it."

"Okay. You're right. Sorry." Then, with a smile back in his voice, "You kiss Cas--"

"I'm hanging up, goodbye."

Sam laughs. It goes straight to Dean's friggin' heart.

 

&

 

Dean wakes to a warm body wedged up behind him.

Cas, dammit.

The room is still dark, and when Dean glances at the table behind him, the one he has to look over the lump that is Cas to even see, he learns it's only 4:12 in the morning.

Outside, a big rig rolls by, blasting its horn noisily. Cas stirs, moving closer, and that's when Dean registers the weight around his middle.

Cas has an arm wrapped around him, holy mother of christ.

It's slung low across his hips, too, Cas' fingers brushing the front of Dean's sweat pants where his dick, to his horror, is twitching to life with morning wood.

"No," Dean chides himself, willing the blood in his body to flow to other places. Safer places.

Cas is his friend. His very good friend who he already has very confusing feelings about, but still. Cas does not need to wake up with Dean's boner poking the palm of his hand.

Dean shifts his hips, like maybe, by wishful thinking alone, he can Houdini his way out of this, except Cas exhales hotly against his neck and loops his arm more firmly around Dean.

Dean stills right away, then his pulse picks up and starts racing because he's pretty sure that means Cas is awake.

Sure enough, Cas knocks his forehead into Dean's shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Dean," he says, low and throaty.

"Personal space," Dean hisses. For his sanity, that just needs to be stated. He whisper-yells an accusing, "So not happening here!"

Cas rolls back some and his arm pulls with him, but it stays around Dean, dragging higher up his hips. "This makes you uncomfortable too," Cas ventures, keeping his voice soft but not bothering to whisper it like Dean.

"Yes," Dean snaps.

"But--" And then Cas runs his fingers up Dean's dick, like that, Dean being almost fully hard, is his point.

Even as Dean's heart leaps up his throat, instinct kicks in first. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around Cas' wrist to stop him.

"Cas..."

This is going from bad to worse. He's sported a few embarrassing, accidental stiffies in his time, all in front of Sam, and all because of their constant shared quarters -- and adolescence was a bitch -- but, fuck, Sam is family. He'd fling a pillow at Dean, and for half a second Dean would feel like cutting his own junk off just so it'd never happen again, but that'd be it. Boner killed.

Cas tugs out of Dean's hold. Dean lets him. He thinks about bailing and taking his pillow out to the Impala.

It gets real quiet, then, in a way that makes everything seem loud.

Then Cas says, "I'm sorry."

Dean doesn't know how to respond at first. He swallows and wills his junk to settle down already. "Okay." He swallows again. "For?"

"Is there a word bigger than 'everything'?"

Dean turns onto his back. It makes it so him and Cas are shoved up against each other, shoulder to shoulder. "Cas."

"I can't force amends," Cas spills real quick. "And I try. I am trying. Except, everything I do only makes it worse--"

"That's not... Cas," he says again, hoarse all of a sudden.

Another big rig drives by outside. This one shakes the room.

"I wanted to be right about Metatron," Cas tells him, dropping it like a confession and a weakness and a weight all wrapped in one.

"Me too, man."

"What Naomi did. What she made me do. To you."

"Ancient history," Dean cuts in quick, wondering, crazily, if this is where Cas thinks Dean's rejection is coming from. He glances up at him, but it's too dark to make out his expression. "Seriously. Water under the bridge."

"Dean, you were angry. You had every right to be."

"Yeah, because you left. You split and I friggin' prayed to you, Cas, I _asked_ you to come back."

"I know," Cas admits, going very quiet.

"Okay, so, yeah. That pissed me off. That."

"And when I chose to believe Metatron over you?"

Dean waits a beat. Fuck that reminder. "You had your reasons."

"Not very good ones." He huffs out a small laugh. "Clearly."

"And I chick flicked my brother out of closing the Gates of Hell, we're all screwed up here, man."

"But Sam's okay and you can still close the Gates. I can't do anything to fix the thing I broke." His voice starts to waver. "Metatron is one problem. Then there's you."

"Dammit," Dean sighs. "Stop. We're not broke."

"I don't want us to be."

"Good, we're not."

"If I fail again?"

Dean flips onto his side, facing Cas. "I'll be right here."

Cas turns, too, and here they are again, curled up in each other's spaces. But this is so much worse. Cas slides his hand up Dean's arm, fitting his palm where Dean's scar used to be. "I need you so much," Cas tells him, he freaking admits it, and Dean feels the words slam all the way into him.

Whatever it is, the intimacy of the night, the case, Cas finally telling Dean something he's been needing to hear for a while now, it makes Dean realize 'complicated' doesn't even begin to cover what's going on with them.

Dean slots his hand beneath Cas' head, pulling them towards each other. He cards his fingers in Cas' hair, his heart slamming around, his breathing picking up.

Cas slides his hand up, too, until he's cradling the back of Dean's head.

This is happening. This is definitely happening then.

Cas says, voice pitched almost a whisper, "Are you uncomfortable?"

Dean answers by surging forward until their mouths meet. It's a hell of a risk to take, and there's a loud part of Dean's brain that's already reeling back in protest like he's the one who's being kissed here by surprise, but Cas opens right up into it, just as eager.

Dean goes right back to being hard, arousal shooting through his body like a snapped rubber band, and that is brand fucking new. The Cas part of it anyway, but Dean's brain skips on their pool grappling, on Cas at the bunker, Cas taking that swan dive into a lake and not coming out the same and maybe he's wanted this for a long time now but didn't know because the world went to hell, and stayed, and there's been no time to figure this shit out.

Cas rolls his hips forward until they land against Dean's, and then he rolls them again, making Dean pull back and gasp. Cas stays there breathing the air Dean's roughly exhaling out, then he tugs Dean by the hair and brings their mouths together again.

For a while they kiss like that, tightly pressed together, taking turns rocking their hips into each other, sloppy and impatient, and Dean keeps waiting for the this-is-wrong moment to hit, but it never comes.

Then Dean rolls Cas onto his back and slides on top. It breaks the kiss, but it also frees the hand he had trapped between the mattress. He takes advantage of that, trailing his fingers down the thin, worn cotton of Cas' shirt until he reaches the hem at the bottom. Cas is watching Dean, watching his face, holding on to him at the shoulders now.

Dean looks up and their eyes lock. It's sappy as hell, but it makes him feel like things are slotting into place. It's like for a while now the Earth has been off its axis by an inch, and someone came along and nudged it back, and suddenly everything makes sense.

They kiss again, harder and desperate, Cas no longer just holding on but rubbing his hands down Dean's back until he has a solid hold of his ass. He uses that grip to keep Dean close while he thrusts up into him, and when Cas' erection drags against Dean's, they both break away to groan.

Dean's sweat pants are in the way. Cas is way over-dressed.

"Dean," Cas breathes, pushing at Dean's waistband. He's brought his knees up so that Dean can sink into the space between, and it makes it so every grind of their hips feels damn electric.

Dean drags Cas's shirt up his chest and starts kissing him there. It's one of his usual moves, and the lack of boobs is another douse of reality, but Cas throws his head back, calling out Dean's name again, so fuck the norm.

Cas gets to his elbows; he fits his hand between them -- Dean has to pull back and brace all his weight on his forearms for that to happen -- and gets it down the front of Dean's pants. Then his fingers are wrapped around Dean's dick, stroking, fisting him tight, so so so good sparks are going off in his brain.

Dean swears under his breath, a long groan of, "Fuck," that he emphasizes by doing just that to Cas' hand. It's hot and clammy and almost so dry it hurts, and Dean's sweat pants are still in the way, but fuck if that isn't doing it for him.

Cas kisses down the side of Dean's face while he jerks him off. High up on his temple, down his cheek, at the corner of his lip. Hot, breathy, open-mouthed kisses like they're making some damn porno.

When Cas thumbs the precome that's started making the dry drag sticky and faster, Dean's elbows nearly buckle. Cas is stripping Dean the way he does it himself, twisting and pulling rough, every fourth or fifth tug making a loose fist again for Dean to fuck up into. Dean starts to lose his rhythm. Pretty soon he's mindlessly chasing after that friction, lost to the slap of their hips, the grunt of air it knocks out of them, Cas' knees smacking Dean's sides.

Cas sucks high up Dean's neck, his free hand twisting into the hair at his nape, and Dean's orgasm hits him so hard, his vision switches to black. Dean comes in spurts that mostly catch on Cas' hand, but some shoot between them as well, dirtying Cas' shirt.

Dean's arms give out. He collapses on top of Cas with Cas still lightly fondling him through the last of it, sweat beading at his hairline. Cas kisses his jaw again, and Dean pushes into it until their mouths line up, and then they're kissing properly.

Dean breaks it after only a couple seconds. There's something else he wants to be doing. He pulls off, pulls back, and starts moving his way down Cas, feeling that post-orgasm burn of exhaustion. Cas takes his hand out of Dean's pants to let him by. Dean wraps his arms around Cas's legs, both of them still bent up near Dean's waist, and lowers them to the bed, nipping at Cas' stomach while he does. It goes taut right away, his muscles clenching.

"Like that?" Dean says, sucking where he's bitten. He leaves a trail of warm saliva.

Cas fists the sheets at his sides.

"What about..." Dean nudges lower, mouthing at the head of Cas' dick through his boxers where there's already a wet spot. Cas bucks up into it, and Dean laughs. "Gonna take that as a yes."

He keeps that up, kissing and sucking and motherfucking nuzzling Cas through a thin, fuzzy layer of cotton, until Cas is pretty much humping him from below, his hips flying off the mattress so enthusiastically the headboard's thumping against the wall.

The night stand, too, pressed too close to the bed, is also getting knocked around, making this constant rattle of the lampshade.

Dean stills Cas' hips and Cas twists restlessly but Dean doesn't give him the chance to complain. He slips Cas' boxers down and takes him right into his mouth, the words 'holy shit' a mantra looping near constantly through his head. Again, Cas bucks off the bed, but Dean moves with him, swallowing him down, and even though this is like gay sex 101, sucking another dude's dick is one of the filthiest things he's ever done, at least as far as actualized kinks go. He almost wishes Cas didn't already milk an orgasm out of him, because this is friggin' hot.

Cas curls his fingers into the hair above Dean's ears, his legs coming up around Dean again. He keeps his feet flat against the mattress though, pushing up until his hips lift clean off the bed.

Dean takes advantage of the new angle and wraps his arms around Cas' back, so when Cas falls back, it's Dean he's pillowed by. It makes it so Cas' hips stay arched, so much easier for Dean to lay there and lazily give his first ever blow job. Cas' first ever, too, he sorta stupidly hopes.

Cas is still thrusting shallowly, breathing loud. The headboard's stopped banging, but now the mattress is creaking. Dean pulls back, sucking his way up to the tip before letting Cas' dick pop out of his mouth. He goes right back for it, though, nuzzling with his face so he can lick a long, wet stripe up the underside.

Cas makes noises Dean's only heard in porn before.

Dean gets to his hands and knees, letting Cas drop back to the mattress. He hovers over him close enough that his own saliva is smearing across his chest, then he sucks him back down, this time wrapping a hand around the base so Cas can fuck into something without anyone, who is Dean, doing something embarrassing, like gag on his first time.

Shit, he's already thinking about doing this again, though.

Cas starts to breathe real fast, then he makes a startled noise and stills. "Dean," he warns, pushing Dean away, and Dean only just pulls off when Cas starts to come.

After, Dean collapses onto his side of the bed, staring at the mold spots. He feels drugged, but in the good, self-prescribed kind of way, unselfconscious and satisfied.

It takes some effort, but Dean gets up to grab one of their dirty towels. Cas watches, sitting up, but Dean presses him back down when he returns.

"Probably don't want to let that dry," he tells Cas. Nothing worse than dried out bodily fluids, that's for damn sure.

Dean winds up toweling them both clean, trying not to let his brain slip into hey-idiot-you-had-sex-with-Cas mode. Cas' shirt is a lost cause, so Dean makes him take it off. He throws it, and the towel, back into their dirty clothes pile.

When he settles back into bed, tired but better because they're both less gross now, Cas is still staring.

They had sex.

They liked it, too.

Dean turns until he's laying on his side. "You okay?" he asks, because maybe, on this one thing -- sharing is caring -- Sam is right.

Cas just lays his palm on Dean's face, cradling his jaw.

They fall asleep like that.

 

&

 

Dean's expecting change in the morning.

He doesn't know what kind -- the world to be painted in rainbows, Cas coming at him with regrets, a knowing phone call from Sam -- but they pick up where they left off like sex and feelings have been a part of their relationship since day 1.

Cas joins him in the shower and blows him so hard, and for so long, they have to rinse off in freezing cold water.

When they eat breakfast later, Cas automatically sets aside his cantaloupe with such a fond smile at Dean, Dean's freakout over how domestic it all is has zero time to form.

It crashes in on them soon after when Dean gets the paper and sees 'Hitched Slayer Attacks Again' right there on the front page.

"Dammit," he murmurs, skimming through the article.

Local couple Walt and Brad Frempton are now missing. More than anything, the fact that it's two dudes somehow makes Dean feel like it's his fault, never mind that the djinn got the jump on them.

"We'll find them," Cas vows, and the way he's looking intensely at Dean probably means he's picking up on Dean's guilt.

Yeah, they'll find them, but who knows if it'll be in time.

Cas attempts to comfort him with a hand to his shoulder, but because Dean is crap when it comes to his emotions, he shakes it off. He's pissed and he can't be mad at himself if Cas is over there trying to calm him down. That's not the way his brain works.

They just need to fix this.

"Right, come on then."

He gets his keys and leaves the door open for Cas to follow.

 

&

 

"Hey," Dean says to Sam over the phone. They're driving through town, heading for the rural outskirts. "There any creepy, abandoned, I don't know, demon-y ruins nearby?"

"Let me check," Sam says. Dean can hear the rustle of paper, Sam typing away at his computer. "I saw the news," he tells Dean after a beat, the same way he'd say 'sorry you're puppy got ran over.' Dean grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles go white, and Cas notices.

"Okay, yeah," Sam continues, his mood picking up. "Looks like there's a town called Lovewell, it's..." He clicks at his computer some more. "18 miles northeast of Mankato."

Dean doesn't know the place but he gets them going, at least, in that direction.

"There's an old reservoir that's been shut down," Sam adds.

"How shut down?" Dean asks, because the worse shape the building's in, the higher their chance for success.

"I don't know, but it's worth a shot. I'll keep looking. You and Cas okay?"

Dean sneaks a glance at Cas, who is, of course, already looking back. "Peachy," he answers tightly.

Sam rattles off the address and hangs up, saying, "Stay safe, Dean."

Dean presses down hard on the gas pedal.

 

&

 

Sam was right, the reservoir is shut down.

There's an old marina overlooking a huge ass lake, the boat ramps and docks stained by the weather. The water laps against them slowly, peacefully.

"Think they'll be here?" he asks Cas as they head for a side entrance.

"Perhaps," is the best Cas offers.

Dean sneaks past a couple of large windows, trying not to make too much noise as they crunch their way through dry, overgrown weeds and gravel. He snorts, "Real positive attitude you got there," sliding up to the wall.

Cas follows, waiting as Dean checks the door to see if it's locked. "I wasn't trying to be positive."

Dean snorts again, chuffing it out through his nose. "Kinda got that." The door opens easy, making only a small, rusty creak. Dean grins real big at Cas and slips in.

Sam didn't share what happened to the place. If it went belly up, if a storm hit and the repairs were too costly, if the locals held some sorta grudge. But its insides look gutted. There are overturned tables in the corner and papery remnants of a business, that's it. Everything else is ratty and broke and covered in grime and dust.

Dean's got a knife in his back waistband he'd pulled out of the trunk of the Impala before. They'd dipped it in a jar of lamb's blood, too, so they're good to go on that front.

A scurrying sound in the next room stops them.

Could be a mouse. Then again, could be their djinn.

It's hard to see when they creep forward again. The only light coming in is from the windows, but most of them are boarded up or have tarps covering them. There's also exposed pipes and cobweb covered air conditioner shafts that make a maze out of the place.

The scraping picks up next door again, and then there's humming, and that definitely ain't a mouse.

Dean tries to meet Cas' eyes to warn him to be careful, but Cas is looking determinedly ahead, in smiting, ex-angel of the lord mode.

They come up to the room as silently as possible, though their feet crunch over broken glass and other debris on the ground. The humming never stops, and when Dean peeks through the wide doorframe, he spots a guy twenty feet away handcuffed to an old support beam in the room, unconscious.

Cas notices and tries to push past Dean, but Dean grabs his arm. He lets go to gesture for Cas to be quiet, then points to the other side of the room where a shadowy, skeletal-looking djinn is crouched in front of their second guy, who's also tied up, but to a water pipe. He's out cold as well.

Dean holds Cas stare long enough to make sure they're both ready, then they dart in, Dean going for his knife straight away.

The djinn senses them the second it happens. It bolts to its feet and rounds on them, halting them both. Cas is halfway to the handcuffed guy. Dean is ten feet from the freaky Crypt Keeper over there.

It smiles when it notices its company, pleased and taunting.

"Not really the reaction I was expecting," Dean quips. He waves the knife in front of him to say: hello, sharp pointy thing here to kill you?

"But I know you," it says gleefully, hunched over. It keeps to the victims' sides almost territorially, guarding them both.

"Most of you dicks do," Dean agrees.

"Winchester," it muses. Its gaze crawls over to Cas'. "That makes you the angel." It wheezes out a laugh. "I'm sorry. Human."

Dean clenches his teeth, anger tearing through him. "Wouldn't get too cozy if I were you," he tells it, "you're about to be dead."

It steps forward into a beam of light, exposing a face covered in tattoos. Then it launches in attack.

Dean and Cas jolt into action too. Cas goes for freeing the men while Dean wields his knife for a fight. The thing is a hell of a lot quicker than it looks, though, catching Dean around the waist and crashing them into a wall.

The air is knocked out of Dean's lungs from the impact, but Dean is able to twist until he's got the knife pinned under the djinn's jaw, right against its pulse point.

It laughs, holding Dean's arm so he can't do anything about it. Its other hand comes up and wraps cold, bony fingers around Dean's throat.

"Too bad you broke the angel," it leans in and says, clenching so it's cutting off Dean's windpipe.

Then Cas is there grabbing Dean's hand still holding the knife, driving it into the djinn's neck.

Cas lets go and the djinn stumbles back, clutching at its throat and making gurgling noises. Its eyes are wide and locked on Dean. When it collapses, it twitches just a second before going completely still, dead.

It's a little anticlimactic. The fight, anyway.

Dean stares at Cas, however, impressed. "Holy crap," he manages. He's got, like, half a boner right now, no big deal. That was _bad ass_.

Cas ignores that to ask, "Are you okay?"

"I'm awesome," Dean gushes.

Cas gives him a look that lets him know he finds Dean's enthusiasm baffling before leaving him to get his bearings while he unties their two victims.

The men, at least, seem okay, though they're badly in need of a blood transfusion. Neither of them wake while Dean and Cas lower them to the floor, arranging them near one another to be easily found.

Dean checks their pulses one last time -- weak, but there -- before they bail, taking the djinn with them.

Cas struggles carrying his end, huffing out, "I don't understand the purpose of bringing this home," and Dean's heart swells a couple sizes hearing 'home' dropped so casually. "It smells," Cas complains.

Yeah, probably because Dean made Cas get the ass end of the body. He's 100% gentleman.

"Yeah, well, Sam thinks it's a good idea to start seeing what makes these things tick," Dean reminds him. Which is true. They've got an entire room on one of the downstairs floors set up like a morgue. Dean had seen it and shuddered at the jars of demon parts swimming around in formaldehyde, but not Sam. Sam's eyes glazed over, and now. Now Dean and Cas are dragging the reeking corpse of a djinn back to the bunker with them so his brother can play Frankenstein.

"Sam has terrible ideas," Cas tells him.

Dean laughs. "Yup."

"And this demon is heavy, I don't think you're holding it right."

"Baby," Dean accuses, but he hefts the djinn up his arms a little so he's got it beneath the pits. Cas is right, the thing stinks.

They dump it in the trunk, mindful of the stash of weapons. It's a tight fit, but it works. If it leaves any kind of stain, though, Sam'll be the one mopping it up.

Dean crowds Cas up against the car after, glad. They got the happy ending after all. It turned out okay. "Hey," he says.

Cas doesn't question the mood change; how Dean could be so distant just a short time ago and now they're sharing personal space again, Dean catching his hips onto Cas' purposefully. It makes him think this thing between them might work.

They kiss a little right there, slow and unhurried and there aren't any fireworks, but it's good.

Dean calls Sam before they peel out, tells him to use a burner phone and report the address to the police.

Sam agrees to, but not before teasing, "So. Honeymoon's over?"

Dean rolls his eyes at Sam's huff of self-congratulating laughter, but he's smiling when he hangs up.

He looks over at Cas, the sun high in the sky, windows rolled down, both of them content as hell right now, and turns some Led Zep up on the radio.

 

&

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to Mankato and Lovewell, KS, two towns I picked through Google maps and know exactly nothing about.


End file.
